


No place she'd rather be

by Kerillian



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, No Recall, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Beta Read, Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-03-08 14:34:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13460292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerillian/pseuds/Kerillian
Summary: Reinhardt has trouble coming to terms with the way his relationship with Brigitte is changing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> im uplaoding this while im too drunk to stop myself. may edit errors where fit

Together, they'd spent the better half of a week guarding another town besieged by bandits and criminals. Just another day, Reinhardt would tell nervous townsfolk trying not to crowd him in the community hall, all while he waited patiently to be sewn up by the local doctor. Just another day in the derelict meadows of rural Germany. Brigitte looked on from a seat nearby, taking time to rest while she calibrated her sentries from her holopad. 

They were satisfied that the town’s interlopers were thoroughly cleared out, and knew with certainty that a fair portion of them would never come back. Lindholm now had more than enough time to implement effective security systems to ensure the safety of the town. Even if it was mostly unnecessary, she added light anti-omnic capabilities to give the townsfolk total peace of mind. Even if their government had forsaken them, too uncaring to deal with the errant rusty bastion units that might stumble out of the forests, nobody stranded out in the war-torn countryside deserved to continue living in fear because their country had abandoned them.

Gratifying as it was, Brigitte and Reinhardt-- especially Reinhardt-- often underestimated how much their occupation would take from them, once the confident facade they maintained for the people they had protected fell away. Exhaustion would bear down on their bodies as they reached the privacy of their home base, one of the few fully intact houses in the village offered to them as temporary accommodation in exchange for their protection. They carried out their sluggish routine, made even more arduous by the injuries they’d sustained. 

Brigitte was mostly unscathed, bearing only minor cuts and bruises thanks to the protection of her companion. Though Reinhardt was no longer in need of medical attention, he’d suffered a deep gouge to his side, sterilised and patched up but mottled with angry burst blood vessels. He fared with even more intimidating bruises in the places his armour dug at his flesh, a consequence of fighting in it whilst too fatigued to hold the correct form it required from its wearer. Crusaders were chosen for their gargantuan size and strength, more often the product of genetic enhancement than not, but even the mightiest warrior had their limits. Reinhardt’s aging body had made it a made it a more prominent reality of late. His joints ached through the numbness in his legs, he could not stand on his feet while Brigitte helped him out of his armour. 

She sat him down and picked the plates off his body. The day showed its toll on her, she was straining under their weight even with her dense muscles’ strength to support her. He knows better than to give her a hand, though. She would slap it away and quip that he couldn’t stop flailing and throwing himself all over the place if his life depended on it. She would tell him to sit still before he passes out and she has to call a fire brigade to come in and drag his unconscious body to bed. 

He sat back and closed his eyes, sighing with deep relief as the weight on his body was shed piece by piece. They both deserved a good, long rest after this.

“Thank you, my treasure.” He rasped, idly awake, vaguely aware of her presence as she placed the parts of his crusader suit against the wall. 

After a moment to let the fresh air grace his skin, he felt her hands settle on his shoulders. Brigitte had a tendency to be handsy after they braved through a life threatening situation together, though never to an uncomfortable degree. He thought nothing of the tenderness her hands worked his muscles with. He noted the touch of her nose against them, and his heart tugged. She always did keep him close on the days his blood was spilt.

“Always, Reinhardt.” She murmured. 

The kiss that lingered atop his trapezius was much less familiar. He must have tensed there, because she pressed her lips to it again, and she kept them there. She held him around his shoulders as far as her arms would allow her, which left her hands resting over the swell of his chest. The pleasant warmth of her body against his threatened to lull him through the silence that ensued, but he was too encumbered with growing alarm for it to take him completely.

Reinhardt Wilhelm, fearless ex-crusader and hero of Overwatch, found himself beset. Thoughts rushed through his mind, much like the blood to his heart now covered by her hand. 

Had he missed some cues? She was always a bold girl - a bold woman now, milder than her father but just as assertive. The trust forged between them throughout their years protecting the people of Germany together meant he never worried about her running rings around him like... this. Foresight had often evaded Reinhardt throughout his life and left him to pick up the pieces of his dignity when everything crumbled, he’d thought experience would make him wiser for it in the end. But should he have seen this coming? No, he thinks; It would be sick of him to have expected that his good friend’s daughter, who is so many years younger than himself, would grow up to desire intimacy from him. The thought didn’t matter much now. At the moment, she was still draped over him like an unsettling reflection of the beauties he’d brought home with him in his youth.

What was he supposed to do, then? Brigitte’s chin rested on his shoulder now, and surely she could feel his pulse rattle his frame. She’d be able to feel it in her arms draped around him, in her own chest resting against his back. 

Against her lips that ghosted over his jugular before she finally pulled away.

He had neither the mental fortitude nor the bravery to deal with this in his state, battered and exhausted. If she minded that he said nothing and pretended to not notice what she was doing, even in spite of the reaction she had gotten from him, she didn’t show it. She helped him into the small ensuite connected to his room, and as he turned to watch her close the door, he saw her wearing the same tired simper she always did when she tended to him after a long day. 

It was a special smile; she wore it beautifully. As he sat cramped under the cleansing spray of a hot shower, Reinhardt’s hands balled weakly when he realised that it was not the first time he’d had this thought, whether he was aware of it or not. Perhaps he was letting his imagination assume too much of Brigitte’s motive. For all he knew, they could simply have reached a new level of comfort between them... one where she could companionably kiss his neck, and maintain a platonic grip on each of his tits.

Unbelievable as it was, he made a useless effort to sustain that thought. He hoped that he could stave off the part of his brain churning with the groundless fear that she would be waiting for him in his room, eager to offer him more tender touches. Perhaps she had some bolder ideas. He had many memories of glorious debauchery behind him, gladly accepting the spoils of fame he received as a crusader and an agent of Overwatch. They cushioned the permanent ache war had left in his heart. But the mere thought that she might be waiting in his bed and not already snoring in her own kept him hidden away in the bathroom long after he had finished his business in it, like an absolute coward. The bite of shame flushing his cheeks and chest made him look so ridiculous, it was difficult for him to hold his own reflection in the vanity mirror.

With only a towel to cover himself with and a sinking feeling in his stomach, he stared at the door, finger hovering over the button that made it slide open. “Be a man, would you!” He hissed, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his lips together as he gracelessly mashed his finger into the button.

Reinhardt opened his eyes and peered into his room. His bed was empty, as was the chair beside it. 

“You old dog,” he muttered to himself, “of course she’s off to bed.” Surely, she was just being playful. He wasted no time making the journey to his bed once he knew he was alone, lifting his aching legs onto the mattress and under the covers one at a time. 

Uncertainty rose up from his mind’s tired haze. He’d never been so scared of her before. Brigitte was his sharply intelligent and caring companion, an echo of the days he had fought alongside Torbjörn. Granted, she and him are much closer than he ever was with Torbjörn, which was reasonable enough. They may have fought together in the most destructive war in living memory, but he had braved many more smaller battles with Brigitte by his side.

He thought of her eyes, the same ones that never left him if she had the smallest fear in her heart that she might lose him. Her hair, glowing like embers as it caught the sun’s rays, or plastered in strands to her skin after the gracious hours she’d spend fixing and servicing his armour. What did he have to fear? She was the first of many that came to mind when he thought of the people he loved.

Maybe this really was the new level of comfort they’d reached, and maybe he wasn’t ready for it.

Reinhardt shook his head, overwhelmed again by his neurotic train of thought. He refused to let it keep him awake. Not tonight. He forced himself into a deep sleep before it took root.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback and a dream

Brigitte always felt that her relationship with Reinhardt was like a timeline of her descent into hopelessness. 

She remembers the horror she felt when she came crawling out of adolescence, realising thoughts that had once been fleeting and quiet had grown so loud and powerful that they sought to ruin her godfather’s image forever. The first time she noticed that she’d completely lost interest in anybody who didn't look like him felt unsurprising in comparison. 

For years after, Brigitte persevered through her faint albeit frequent urges to seek psychiatric help. She worried it might ruin an innocent man's reputation, that word might leak from a loose-lipped therapist and by some ridiculous feat travel all the way to her father's ears, running the risk of tarnishing his relationship with Reinhardt forever. 

The problem was with her, nobody else, and all she had to do was keep her mouth shut. 

And yet, somehow, her decision to follow him out into post-crisis Germany indefinitely seemed reasonable enough to her at the time. 

Even up to the moment she sat preening in front of a mirror in a hotel ensuite, her faith in her ability to keep her emotions hidden away eventually made her forget why she ever needed to be afraid of her attraction in the first place. She cared not for the religious construct that made her attraction to him taboo. She felt ready to make a hard dent in this problem that sat with her longer than she might ever admit.

They had time to kill when they stopped off in a city over on their way to a Lindholm family reunion, and she decided it was high time that Reinhardt took her out on a date. At least, he might, after she marched out and asked him to, before she demanded he get ready to go out with her. Despite the hare-brained nature of her plan, confidence burned brightly in her chest. If she set the mood right, she may just squeeze an afterimage of herself into his subconscious desire. If she made herself look the best she possibly could, so delicious that if she were a stranger then she would most definitely take herself home, anything was possible. 

She looked _good_. Her waist was clinched, and her breasts framed perfectly in a gorgeous dress she'd scoured the town for that day. The last coat of mascara she applied marked this as the most effort she'd had the time to put into her appearance for a long time. Bless her wallet, how it certainly did pay off. She did not deny herself a long, satisfied look at her perfect body. 

Drunk on her excitement, she swung her bedroom door open and strode into the hotel's living room to pick her purse up off the couch, and to take Reinhardt by the hand and demand he get ready to take her out.

He would take her by the hand into the restaurant of her choosing, they’d eat like pigs-- Or Brigitte would, Reinhardt would try to not appear so barbaric and have a delicate dab at his mouth with a napkin. They would laugh, Brigitte would giggle and snort… she’d give her tits a subtle squish between her arms and maybe his eyes would flash downward for just a moment. 

Perfect… so what was she waiting for? 

Reinhardt was in the kitchen, back faced to her, boiling water for some tea. He often puttered around as best as these tiny dwellings built for regular people would allow him to; sometimes Brigitte would stare without him knowing.

He hadn’t turned around yet. She could hear the traffic whirring softly from the road below their floor, floating in through the open window.

It was then that she realised there was a gap in her plan, and she stood rooted at the lounge. Maybe nerves stilled her, or the sight of him in just a t-shirt and sweatpants made her think twice about pulling him from such comfort.

He turned as a chill blew in, making to close the window but stopping short as she caught his attention, still gawking at him. 

She wasn’t prepared. His gape nearly made her take a step backward before she caught herself. 

“Brigitte!” He gasped, “Goodness, let me get a better look at you!”

She still doesn't recall him closing the distance between them in the room, only that she saw him in the kitchen, and then directly in front of her, beaming down at her like some sort of benevolent deity.

“You look _beautiful_ , my treasure...”

His voice was strained into softness, as though he could not believe his eyes. Normally, she would roll her eyes at such a dramatic reaction. She was too concerned that her heart might burst out of her ribcage to stick to that routine. 

Reinhardt stood with an adoring gaze, fist curled over his mouth… a pose she could recall all the way back to her earliest memories. 

Towering Reinhardt, overflowing with warm, sterile affection.

She didn’t have time for it to sink in, because his massive hands were covering her shoulders, turning her side to side to get a better look at her.

Brigitte’s legs felt stiff, but she humoured him anyway. This is where she should've been following up, taking control of the situation and demanding that he go and make himself look good enough to match her.  
Her brain was roaring with anticipation just minutes before, and suddenly all she could think to do was hang onto whatever she could before she abandoned the train wreck her plan was turning into.

“Lovely, Brigitte. You look lovely.” He sighed. “Are you hitting the town tonight? My god, you are going to kill it out there!”

She no longer knew what to do with herself. Her arms crept up to make subtle cover for the cleavage her dress put on display.

Brigitte smiled and nodded. Strangely, she felt nothing like she thought she ought to. Her brain must have shut her emotions off to get her through this abruptly unsalvageable evening. She could curse her cowardice in the morning.

“Why so quiet? You're shy as a lamb. That’s not like you, my girl.” Reinhardt remarked. He rubbed the calloused pad of his thumb over her shoulder, and it kicked her back into life.

She covered her internal conflict with a front of sheepishness.

“I… aha, actually, I was hoping that--"

Reinhardt interjected. “Oh! I know that look. You’d like a lift into the town, hm?”

It was a convenient enough suggestion. She just wanted this to be over, so that she could start drinking as soon as possible.

  


* * *

  


Tonight had been a disaster for Brigitte. After she’d been dropped off at whatever venue that caught her eye first, she’d made a straight line for the first seat she saw at the bar and ordered her first drink.

That had been about an hour and a half ago. On what was her exorbitant number of drinks, she punished herself further by refusing to think of anything but Reinhardt.

Big, lovely Reinhardt. He was so good to her that he made her forget that most men felt too intimidated by her to treat her like a person. Women had not caught her eye like they used to. She’d seen so many of them that looked at her like she was the answer to all their problems, it felt tragic. It felt wasteful of her. It wasn’t their fault that they never got taller than her, or that they couldn't grow beards - and if they could? Well, they still weren’t Reinhardt. Nobody was ever on his level. She was becoming convinced that nobody ever would be.

She saw irony in that he had a major hand in helping to cultivate her assertive nature. Because of Reinhardt, Brigitte was never afraid of what was ahead of her. Somewhere along the line, all she could ever see in front of her was him. She’d chased what she wanted all the way into a dead end, and now she’d lost her nerve.

Alcohol had washed down her throat faster than she’d originally planned for - but her plans had changed. If she couldn’t go out on a date with Reinhardt, then she would kick the shit out of her liver instead. Her motor skills had well and truly left her in the dust right around the time someone sat next to her and garbled something she had no desire to decipher.

“Fuck off, asshole.” She growled.

A hand grabbed her by the arm and her first instinct was to fling her weight into the man holding onto her, which sent him back a few steps and her tumbling to the ground. 

“Okay, you’re leaving now. Time to go.”

The bouncer gestured to his side while she struggled to figure out how she’d landed on the floor. 

All kinds of insults that never made it past her mouth flew around in her intoxicated brain as another man in a suit picked her up under her arms.

“Jesus, she’s heavy--”

Brigitte thrashed weakly. “I’m gonna… my papa’s gonna fuck all of you. He’s going to _fuck_ you. Fuck you in the face with his fist--”

“Yeah, alright,” One of them said as they flanked her and dragged her away from the bar.

“Then he’s gonna shove his fucking _claw up your ass_ \--” 

“Oh my god, shut up.”

She fell on her bottom outside the front door.

They stood at the door a moment and tensed as she made to get up - but she was out of their minds the moment she fell back down again. 

She hated them. She hated every single asshole in that bar. None of them had to deal with the implications of being hot for their goddamn godfathers. Probably.

The last thing she wanted to do was listen to anybody who had anything to do with that place, but that didn’t stop them from trying to talk to her anyway.

“--olm? --Is anybody picking you up? Hey--” She could hear someone call to her. 

Brigitte ignored them and slowly climbed to her feet with the help of a wall. The night began to crumble into a sick haze as she walked whatever direction the wall was taking her. 

She was plonked on her ass again in a darker street, reaching for her phone to paw around for the address book. It took a couple of tries for her to blindly poke at the screen, but her phone was at her ear and the tone began to ring.

It was an answering machine that greeted her. Papa didn't pick up. She hung up and tried again, and again, until she’d had enough. She pelted her phone at the wall in front of her and screeched at the top of her lungs. 

It did not sate her frustration. She turned and slammed her fist into an air conditioner exhaust.

“... Ow. Oww, ow… Ah… god, _ow_.”

The pain running up her whole arm shocked her into some semblance of awareness, making way for immediate regret. “Fuck,” She hissed, clutching her arm to her body.

“Ma’am?” She heard, and turned to see a blinding light shining her way. “Are you alright, ma’am? What are you doing to that air conditioner?”

Her good arm thrust forward to block it out.

“It hurt me,” She slurred at the light. It began to dim as she tried to speak more clearly.

“Where are you st-- Ma’am? Hey--”

She slipped in and out of consciousness. Between her blackouts, Brigitte could vaguely make out the inside of a vehicle, with a screen of hard light separating the front and back cab.

“We’re at your hotel, Brigitte.” A police omnic’s face greeted her from the front cab. “Your father was very worried about you when we called him.”

The sight of its presence brought so many mixed feelings to her that she simply blacked out again instead of trying to process it.

She would have a difficult time explaining to Reinhardt why her new dress was so dirty and how she messed up her hand, or how she lost her phone.

Brigitte wished she’d just stayed in the hotel after all of this. Her only good memory to keep from the night was the affectionate thumb Reinhardt swept over her cheekbone before she hopped out of their truck.

  


* * *

  


It was a year after that Brigitte lay in the dark, unsure of the time. 

She’d opened her eyes and could immediately feel her jaw ache from grinding her teeth. The tension in her body tore her from her waking haze just before she realised she was drawn so tight that her whole body quaked. 

She sat up and tried her hardest to just breathe, no twitching, just tucking her legs to her chest as her recurring nightmare played itself over again in her mind. 

Before her sprawled a gorey vista of a decimated town, smoke and bloodshed abound, and then him. Reinhardt, her pillar of endless strength, laying broken amidst it all.

As life rapidly left him, his gaze locked onto her and he whispered something she could not hear. As it happened in every other instance of her dream, she’d run to him, trip over debris and scrape her skin as she scrambled on her knees to be by his side. Just as his bloodied white hair grazed the tips of her fingers, just as she was close enough to hear him open his mouth once more, she would wake. Doomed to never hear what it was that he would say to her before he was gone forever.

But it was just a nightmare.

It was just her brain processing her feelings as she slept. This time, her relief in knowing this was replaced by the uncertainty she felt gnawing at her. Although she loved him so intensely, he was not hers to keep.

Not Reinhardt, even with Brigitte’s bravest attempts to signal her feelings to him. Even barring how little she cared for the concept of godparents, he’d still held her when she was a newborn infant. She couldn’t blame him if romance between them was so utterly unthinkable to him that he may never realise what she was doing. 

Brigitte threw the covers off her body when she remembered the kisses she’d laid upon Reinhardt’s neck and shoulders, just hours ago. It happened before she even realised the gravity of what she was doing. The memory buzzed on her lips as though she’d just done it a moment ago, so electrifyingly sweet, and so terribly destructive. She considered blaming her actions on the post-battle haze, should her honesty fail her in the morning. 

He looked... uncomfortable. Fairly disturbed, in truth. She noticed how he all but ran from her to the safety of his bathroom. But Brigitte pushed it to the back of her mind for her own sake. It wouldn’t do for Reinhardt to hear her sobbing in the night, terrified of the inevitable consequences her actions would have on their relationship.

Terrified, and still cursing herself for not learning a single thing. She still hoped to take him by the shoulders again, press herself into him and pray they never come apart. She could kiss him, she dreams that she might one day take him to bed. Failing any of that, she would definitely hold his damn hand-- anything, just as long as she never had to let go of him. Not even fear could touch her feelings for him, and she didn't know if it made her courageous or just sick. 

Alas, perhaps the reason Brigitte could never hear his last words to her in her nightmare was that he was beloved only to her, and not the other way around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!! I am pleased to tell whoever is reading this that i have not abandoned this fic. I dropped the ball for a while cause life sucks lately. I also didn't expect that Blizzard would actually release Brigitte as a playable character and pull the godfather card on Reinhardt, as if that would stop me thinking they're boning, which they definitely are. So I had to take some time to get a feel for her again. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the wonderful comments on the first chapter. They all kept me going these past 5 months. I'm about half way through chapter 3 and with any luck it will take a lot less than 5 months for me to update.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reinhardt misses his companion

Reinhardt made for the kitchen after he’d woken up, pulled out of slumber by the ache of his healing body. Each step was weighed down not only by the injuries he’d sustained the day before, but by the anxious energy gnawing at his gut. Brigitte habitually rose after him, and he wondered what might happen this morning. 

There were few who knew Brigitte so personally as he did at this point in time; he might wager that he knows her better than anybody else in her life. But now, after what happened? It rocked him. He had no idea how to talk to her about it.

He caught himself staring a hole through the kitchen counter. Reinhardt fetched a cloth from the sink and wiped the surface down, which swiftly devolved into nervous scrubbing. 

What would he say to her? What _could_ he say? 

‘This is wrong, Brigitte.’ Of course it was. Of course she’d know that.

‘I named you, Brigitte. How could you feel this way about me?’

He could say that. It's what any normal man-- any normal paternal figure in his position might say to her. And yet, he really doesn't know what was going through her head. He has no idea what she is feeling, or why it compelled her to act the way she did last night. Assuming too much of her might blind him to something he really ought to pay attention to. He knew in his heart that snubbing her without even listening to her would only damage their bond, and possibly eliminate any chance of them comfortably existing together again.

Reinhardt’s hand was getting pruney from the damp cloth when he eventually decided he would just pretend nothing happened, for now. He would not bring it up until she did… in whatever way she planned to do it.

For now, cooking breakfast for both of them sounded much more agreeable.

The problem thereafter was that even after he’d worked away in the kitchen, filling the house with the smell of a delicious breakfast, she was nowhere to be seen. 

His gut told him she’d rushed out the door in the night and left him on his own. His head - the reasonable side of it, anyway - rationalised that she had simply hidden herself away inside the camper parked outside. He was certain of it when he crept out the front door just far enough to hear the familiar bustle of activity from within the camper, but it did not make him feel any better than the thought that she’d run off had done. 

Another day dawned after he tired of waiting for her to come to him. Reinhardt was already in the kitchen again by the time he realised she’d snuck out to the camper again. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to make breakfast for two - perhaps it was the only way he could think of to tell her that he was still here for her, without being too invasive. Her portions were gone when he’d check the fridge in the evening, at least.

Even though, and perhaps even because she was the only thing on his mind, it felt so sudden to Reinhardt when he ground to a halt, realising now that he had not talked to his goddaughter in nearly four days. 

He was crouched on the tiles, wiping the same spot over again. The smell of a dinner for two permeated his senses, pulling him from his altered state. How much food had he been making? 

If only his appetite had not been spoiled by the chemicals he’d been spraying onto the floor and wiping away.

The house was darker without Brigitte there to talk to him; the creaks in the structure made that much more foreboding by her absence. Reinhardt’s brow was clammy, he wiped it on the back of his arm as he hastily checked the corners of the house. How he wished he weren’t so superstitious, and that maybe he was a little less traumatised, too. 

Loneliness only amplified the fear he felt when a moving shadow became so much more to him than a simple trick of the light. He hadn’t realised how good she was at keeping all of these symptoms at bay.

More terrifying than anything his past could throw at him, though, her absence was the confirmation Reinhardt needed but did not want. The knowledge that she would rather hide from him than face the inconceivably huge rift that threatened to destroy their relationship hurt him deeply. Maybe that was an exaggeration, but how long would this go on for if it was just up to her? Weeks? Months? 

It was irresponsible of him to ever think he could just sit back and let her confront him. ‘Engineers only’ time in the camper be damned, he was falling apart. It was time he took this into his own hands, or rot in this house like the last meaningful relationship he’d ever retained was about to do.

  


* * *

  


Inside the camper was a familiar sight. Brigitte was working up a sweat with a set of rows, propped up on the fold-out bench and hissing with each lift of the dumbbell. 

She didn't let Reinhardt look for long. She cut her set short and grabbed a towel off a nearby chair. There wasn't a time in her life before this that she couldn't just comfortably finish her workout while he watched on.

“What’s up?” She said so curtly. “Do you need something?”

Reinhardt looks at her in silence. She was tired and overworked, like she was just hurting herself without his guidance. He starts with a deep sigh, and settles onto the nearest seat.

“I would like to talk.”

Her deflection was immediate. “I’m eating and drinking enough water, _please_. I can take care of myself.”

“Don’t do this, Brigitte.” He cut to the chase and quietly implored her. 

“I’m not doing anything.” She talks patiently, but she’s puttering around like a nervous old man, with the tone of the girl she used to be ten years ago.

“Do not _ignore_ me. You can’t… hold me, like a lover, and then force me to pretend I can just be a godparent in silence!”

Reinhardt doesn’t yell at her, even though his hoarseness makes it difficult for him to speak any other way. Nevertheless, he could barely recognise the words that had just come tumbling out of him. It was a thought he had avoided for as long as she had avoided him.

She whips her head around to him, like she has something furious to tell him about his conjecture, her fists balling up and the pump she had going make her look fearsome. But she said nothing. Her lips pursed, and she looked at the wall next to his head.

Instead, a voice as gentle as ever followed her display of aggression.

“What do you want me to do, then?”

Her fearful little question belied her appearance. The discomfort was growing palpable between them as more light was shed on the issue. Her judgement was not impaired, and he could no longer ignore her attraction in favour of pretending things could be the same as they were.

“Tell me,” She presses, “ _Tell me_ what you want me to do, Reinhardt.”

He holds her line of sight until the frustration emanating from her forces him to break it.

“I just want you to be happy. I have never wanted anything less.” 

She stares at her feet like she doesn’t want to listen. 

“Please,” Reinhardt says, a hand tentatively closing some of the distance between them to wrap around hers. She lets him pull her closer, watching as he holds her hand between the two of his. “Do what will make you happy, and I will follow as best as I can.”

It sounded oddly like an overture of sorts, he realised. He still told himself that she didn’t have to take it that way.

Brigitte closes her eyes and tips her head back, inhaling deeply to steady herself.

“Do you know what I think will make me happy?” She breathes. It does little for the quiver in her voice. 

“I left my apprenticeship three years ago… and I did not blink, Reinhardt. I have never looked back.”

Her cheeks tint pink, lips drawn to a thin line. 

“Do you think there’s any question in my mind of what I want?”

The shame she exuded at her own feelings made his heart clench terribly. Just in her little hand, Reinhardt swears he can feel the weight of what she’s stewed over for an unholy amount of time. It was unbecoming of a twenty-six year old so beautiful as she.

“...Maybe I’m not ready to know,” He admits. 

“But I know that I want to try and understand. I need your help to do that.”

He doesn’t really know what he means by that, in truth. Reinhardt has no idea what he can do for her pain, not now that he feels he may not know her as well as he did. The way her image morphs right before him is confusing, like he’s talking more to a woman he loves than he is to his goddaughter. It scares him, he doesn’t know what it means for him-- but he’s not nearly as terrified of it as he is of this being what they turn into in the end. 

_This_ , a stage of complete uncertainty, one where he does not know what he can say to or do with her anymore.

Brigitte laughs, or sobs. Reinhardt can’t tell. “I… I don’t know how you manage to be such an aggressive doormat.” She tells him. “I’ve mistreated you, and all you want to do is make sure I’m okay!”

He had to stop and blink a moment as he processed that. It was an uncomfortable stab at humour she’d done to placate herself, but he still can’t mask the sombre mood it evokes from him. It was awfully close to home.

“... My dear. I can assure you, I have not put myself first for a very long time, and I don’t want to start now.”

Her expression slumps. “I don’t want that, Reinhardt. I’m-- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...”

“It’s an eye for an eye. Don’t worry. It’s what I have chosen for myself.” He says. 

“No.” It comes on slow, but Reinhardt realises she isn’t talking about the joke anymore. 

“No, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

She pulls his hands up and hugs them to her chest for a spell, tiring of the distance she’d put between them over the past few days. The sweat on her body had to be growing stale by now, but he didn’t seem to pay it any mind while she stood before him, forcing her tears back.

“I-- I did what I did because I was selfish… I made this happen. I should never have touched you like that. I promise, I won’t ever do it again.”

Brigitte holds his arms in a vice grip, heaving as she rode through her outburst. He watched and waited for her to calm down.

“Thank you,” He begins, “It shocked me, yes. But Gitte, that is not what bothers me right now. Not even close.”

Brigitte felt her stomach flop as she prepared to be reminded of some other transgression she had forgotten about, to match the guilt that bore down on her soul.

“Close up the workshop and come back to the house with me, my treasure. I know that my armour is in perfect condition. You have nothing more to do out here.”

She decided not to argue with him. He went ahead after he made her promise she would be no longer than a few minutes, and she agreed only if he would finally sit down and stay put.

  


* * *

  


Reinhardt nestled himself on the couch with a blanket to keep him cozy, at her request. When she finally came inside after locking up the camper, he caught her attempting to quietly fish a fresh towel out of some bags.

“You should be the one relaxing here, little one. Not me.” He says. 

She stops and glances at him over her shoulder.

“I also wasn’t the one who needed stitches last week.” She threw back, as if she wasn’t verging on a panic attack not fifteen minutes ago. 

“Look at this place,” She gestures, “It’s spotless. You’ve been charging around with the mop, haven’t you?”

Yes, Reinhardt thought. With the mop, and a broom before it. Then he’d wipe down his own footsteps by hand.

He chose not to tell her she was right, and instead shifted focus back to her with a pointed look.

“I’m fine.” She sighed. ”I just need a shower and a rest.”

“Will you rest here with me, then?”

Brigitte feels her pulse in her throat, and she can’t speak for a moment. “Please… don’t make yourself do this for me. I’ve already done too much.” 

Her actions were an echo in the distance to him now, even though they had shaken him just days ago. He could handle this. All they needed to do was communicate. 

“You could never do too much, Brigitte. You are purely good, and I need time to tell you that again.” 

It was all she could do to nod absently as she stumbled to the bathroom. Her hands shake as she washes herself on autopilot, lost in pondering how she got to this situation in the first place. She never thought him knowing would just be that - him knowing. The revelation of her feelings had only seemed as though it would be followed by calamity. The efforts she went to just to make him notice what was going on were extensive, and still they always ended in disappointment. It made her think that fate was simply telling her to stop trying, for her sake. But… he knows, and he doesn’t want her gone. It’s surreal, to say the least.

When she was done showering, Reinhardt was just where she left him. Waiting patiently for her, tablet in hand to pass the time. She jumped when he put it down on the table, unprepared now that she could no longer waste time gawking at the back of his head. 

He gestures for her to come and sit, scoffing when she seats herself as far away from him as she can. 

‘No need for that.’ Is all she hears before his big, thick arms scoop her up and drag her up close to his body.

There was very little personal space left between them. So little that she could quietly inhale, and then keep inhaling until her lungs were at capacity, just filled with the scent of him. There was no point in hiding the flush in her cheeks at any time, she had her ginger genes to thank for that. 

“Are you trying to kill me?” She whispers half way into his shoulder and his tit.

His laugh warms her past her cheeks, down to her chest.

“Absolutely not. Just breathe, will you? Sit with me.”

Brigitte had tried to sit with him, sort of, but now she has been forced to sit _on_ him. She regularly envisions herself doing this in a different instance, and it doesn’t help her now. Comfort was exactly what she expected she would not feel from this exchange, but she’s stuck right here, held in place by his enormous arms. Sadly, Brigitte fears he may have missed the point of the distance she had put between them in the first place. He has to know that he may never be able relax the way he wants to anymore, not without her terrible thoughts there to spoil his pure intentions.

Just as the shameful discomfort begins to reach its peak within her, he squeezes her arm.

“I missed you so much, _katzi_.”

A nickname she had not heard in years, one that only he had ever called her. It should have pained her to hear him bring it back like this, but the tightness in her chest gradually began to soften with each breath she took. It made her wonder if he intended for it to affect her that way.

Brigitte hesitates to reply, but the earnesty in his caring gesture compels her to anyway. “I missed you too.” 

It felt like she was stating the obvious, like she was making it all about her again. She thought it was something she was not entitled to say after what she had done, but Reinhardt only seemed to glow with relief to hear it.

“I will never judge you,” he promises, “And I will never let you suffer in silence again.”

Her lip quivers. She bites onto it to stop the undignified sound she’s about to make. It happens anyway, a whimper that heralds the arrival of a sob. It would have escalated after that, if not for how he hoists her in his arms and nestles her head under his chin. Now encompassed completely by his warmth, her nerves are finally settling. It’s the only thing she’s wanted in the past week. After days of punishing herself with loneliness and emotional agony, she finally felt herself drifting blissfully, held safe in his arms.

She is not ready to tell him aloud, but in her heart, Brigitte promises to do the same for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello....... when I said "soon" at the end of last chapter, I really did mean less than 2 months, but at least it was 3 months less than last time. Between writing, rewriting and straight up trashing drafts (that "halfway done" chapter I talked about? deleted probably a week after I posted last chapter), moving house and dealing with pain flareups, this chapter's release was moved back a lot further than I wanted it to be. I also don't really have anybody to regularly talk to about what I write, which makes it much harder for me to do as I live for outside input. Life has been getting in the way of my creativity, but I love, adore and cherish the people who are still coming to read this despite my unreliable updates. Thank you so much for reading!!!
> 
> Anyway,,, its late and I'll probably come back to edit errors in this later as needed. I promise I haven't forgotten that I tagged this "explicit". Promise. B)


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